


where'd you get them scars, how blue is your heart?

by kuchi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Awkward Crush, But also, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: Katara heals Zuko's wound over seven healing sessions following their fight against Azula.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148





	where'd you get them scars, how blue is your heart?

_1._

Zuko sleeps through what turns out to be their first healing session of many, having collapsed into the first bed he found the moment he had stumbled into the palace after Azula’s defeat. Katara, who is momentarily distracted by rejoicing at the news of Aang’s victory, only finds him here afterwards, in a dark, abandoned room in a small residential wing of the palace closest to where they had fought Azula. With its overbearing crimson furnishings and narrow corridors, the interior of the palace is a surreal sight after their months of planning, but Katara ambles through it with her flask full of water, letting the mix of joy and concern and mindless exhaustion steer her until she finds Zuko.

She doesn’t bother to wake him, climbing up onto the curtained bed and getting to work quickly – with a lightning strike, the first session is the most important. She’s intimately, painfully familiar with that fact.

The skin on Zuko’s chest is pinched out of shape, twisted into an awful starburst of bruises that are already purpling. The wound is red and raw in the middle, and her hands shake not only from the fatigue, but from noticing just how similar it is to Aang’s wound, all those months ago. But it’s also a good thing, because it means she already knows how to treat it. Goodness knows she doesn’t have the energy for trial and error.

Katara bends a globe of water over Zuko’s chest and concentrates. Her eyes droop and her skin itches from the heat and dust, and soon enough, her wrists ache from holding the water suspended for so long.

She has no Spirit Oasis water at her disposal this time, unlike the first time she had offered to heal Zuko’s scar.

The dull ache of irony pools in her stomach.

When she’s done her best – simple damage control, the best of her ability at this point – Katara inches her way up on the bed, leans against the headboard and sighs. Distant shouts and closer murmurs blur together in her sleepy mind. She wonders when Iroh will get here, and Dad, and the rest of them. But the knowledge that Aang and Sokka and the others are safe – having arrived at the capital just hours ago – is enough to let her eyes drift shut.

She looks down at the sleeping body next to her. Zuko sleeps fitfully, twitching and turning – though considerably less than he had been before she healed the wound. She’d never noticed that before – he had always woken up before anyone else while they were travelling together. Just one more reason for her to be suspicious.

Without another thought, she slips down next to him, careful to avoid his body, and curls onto her side.

She dreams of a brooding, blood-red sky, the incessant drone of a fleet of airships grinding in her ears, and the blinding white flash of lightning in her face –

Katara wakes, drenched in sweat. She scrambles and sits bolt upright on the too-soft bed, bewildered eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. And then reality comes rushing back in, and Katara sighs, awash with relief. She turns. There’s a familiar body next to hers. Gaunt and tired and parched, but alive. Breathing. Just like her.

She lays back down.

_2._

When Katara slips into the room for their second session, Zuko is asleep _again_. It’s downright strange. She never thought she'd be able to imagine him out of that permanent scowl, but he looks calm. There is no harshness of breath, like on the first day, not even the characteristic rigidness she's come to expect. He looks almost _peaceful_.

It's probably what being home and safe after years of banishment does to a person – and she doesn’t begrudge him that.

If only Katara herself could take a leaf out of that book. She doesn't know when she's going back to the south – only that she doesn't want to leave Zuko in his current state after he threw himself in front of lightning for her.

Katara tiptoes towards the bed and drags over a chair this time, not wanting to interrupt Zuko. Unlike her, he's had a tiring couple of days. Iroh had suggested that the preparations for his accession to the throne begin immediately; the less time they spend with a gaping power vacuum in the heart of the capital, the better. She’s barely seen Zuko all week, though her thoughts stray to him more than she might admit.

Either way, Katara is sharply awake this time, after nearly two days of rest and recuperation under the care of some White Lotus appointed guards, chefs, and caretakers who have set up a station in one wing of the palace. It's odd to be looked after, after so long – a lifetime, even – fending for herself. She's not sure yet if she likes it.

She sets down her bowl and begins transferring the water from her pouch. Once Zuko and the others are a little stronger, she’s going to go out to the seaside, and bend her heart out with nothing but the ocean for company. Well – maybe Aang will join her, if he can get a moment away from the crowds of people, officials and ordinary folk alike, vying for his attention.

The homesickness that has been kept at bay for nearly a year of crashes through her now, gnawing deep and cold in her very bones. Part of her wants to go with dad and Sokka, who are leaving with the rest of the tribesmen next week to bring the news to the South, as soon as Zuko's coronation is done with. But Katara still has important matters to attend to here, one of which is now blearily looking up at her through asymmetrical, scarred eyes.

“You missed breakfast,” Katara says gently, scooping out a ribbon of water from the bowl as Zuko groggily wakes and removes his bandages. Katara winces at the sight. Whoever had changed them while she slept had done a pretty haphazard job – possibly Zuko himself. “And lunch.”

Zuko grunts, and then blinks. He makes to sit up, but Katara gestures for him to lie back down. She’s surprised at how easily he acquiesces. Maybe there is a part of Zuko, that is, soon-to-be-Fire-Lord Zuko, that’s still cautious around her. She swallows around her smile.

“I didn’t realise—” Zuko scratches his head. Katara is struck by how much the gesture makes him look like a child, her mind drawing up the image of the surprising portrait she had seen in Ember Island. “I normally get up at dawn. No one woke me.”

“I think your Uncle asked them not to,” Katara replies.

He nods, eyes falling shut again as he lifts up his torso with effort while Katara unwinds the bandages. “Thank goodness.” His breaths harshen when the water touches the wound, and Katara watches him return to the normal Zuko, inch by inch, tensing up. She catches a glimpse of a grimace, though he looks like he's trying hard to hide it.

“Are you in pain, Zuko?” Katara says. Alarmed by the tenderness of her own tone, she clears her throat and rephrases. “I know the water is cold, but it’s more effective this way.”

Zuko nods tightly, and doubles down, revealing hardly any more signs of discomfort. That was stupid of her. And then, because the silence is only going to get more awkward, she says, “A few of us are going to the waterfall garden this evening. With Mai and Ty Lee, too. You should come.”

Zuko’s eyes spring open. “Oh,” he says, but his expression is unreadable. Either that, or Katara is just too frazzled to tell. She can’t seem to get it right today. “I’ll try,” Zuko says finally. She feels his eyes on her face, just for a moment before they return to her hands on the globe of water. “Thank you, by the way.”

Katara looks away instinctively. So much for not making it awkward. “What for?”

“You don’t have to stay and heal me. You could be planning going back home with Sokka, or even just spending time with Aang or the water tribe warriors, I know they're still waiting to-”

“Zuko, you need to heal.”

“I know, but you don't owe me this.”

“What–” Katara shakes her head, the familiar feeling rising thick in her throat, suddenly hot and itchy behind her eyes. It comes so easily these days. “What are you talking about? This is the _least_ I could do.” She returns the water to the bowl, a little shakily, before wiping her hands down on the front of her tunic and taking his hand in both of hers. She squeezes tightly, imploring.

It’s Zuko’s turn to look bashful. “Thank you,” he says again, quiet and raspy. “I'd do it again, by the way. I'd do it a hundred times.”

Katara bites back a watery smile, shaking her head.

_3._

“So, when will you go back home?”

Katara looks up from where she had been unspooling a roll of bandages in her lap.

“I’m not sure yet. With Aang, probably, when he decides it’s time.”

Zuko nods, before looking out of the small window in the side of the room. They’ve somehow settled into using this room permanently, even though Zuko sleeps elsewhere now, and Katara herself has been given another room in the same wing. She's grateful for the space, but sometimes it's easier, safer, to slip into the courtyard and fall asleep on Appa’s back under the stars, especially with the dry heat of Fire Nation nights.

There are fewer nightmares with Appa at her back.

The best thing about this room is that no one bothers them here, including the well-meaning White Lotus helpers, and Katara is pretty sure half the palace staff probably aren’t even aware that it’s occupied, let alone by their imminent Fire Lord.

“What are you going to do when you go back to the Southern Water Tribe?”

Katara straightens her shoulder, tightening her grip on the gauze. “Well, there isn’t much left where I'm from. I guess the first thing we need to do is rebuild the village and make sure the returning warriors are resettled. And then we can connect with the rest of the tribe.”

Zuko bends his elbow on the mattress, a familiar gesture now which means he needs help to sit up. Katara guides him up until they're eye level, before beginning to peel away yesterday’s bandages.

Zuko looks contemplative. Beyond the hollowed shadows under his eyes and scruff of his hair, close to reaching his shoulders now, she thinks she can see something of a leader. “I’m going to come, too, as soon as I can. It'll be my first mission as Fire Lord. I’ll bring all the resources I can to help you.”

“That isn’t really my decision to…” Katara trails off, pressing her lips together in a line. Because maybe it is her decision. Maybe it _will_ be. It’s a whole new world out there, and she helped save it. That's got to count for something. Especially when there are so few Southerners left to lead their tribe.

Katara begins gingerly wrapping the bandage around his chest, glad for the distraction as she ponders her response to his offer. “In the nicest way possible, Zuko, we don't need your input. But if you can prove your allegiance to the Water Tribe, and to creating balance in the world,” she looks up and smiles, “of course we’ll accept your _services_.”

“Alright,” Zuko says, catching on to her playful tone. “If you do want my services, Chief—”

“—that’s a little far.” But it’s nice to note how easily the word seems to roll off his tongue.

“If you _do_ , Aang will be thrilled. He told me yesterday that I _have_ to go penguin sledding with him down there sometime.”

Katara raises her brows. “ _Did_ he?”

Zuko nods, another smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Gratified, if puzzled, by his mood, Katara returns it. “I don't even know what penguin sledding is,” he continues.

Laughter bubbles in Katara’s chest. She settles into a nostalgic and probably far too overwrought description of the activity as she finishes changing his bandages. By the end of her explanation, there's no doubt in her mind – she _has_ to witness Zuko penguin sledding. Even picturing it in her mind is threatening her composure.

“Aang must really like the South Pole, if that’s where he’s going back to,” Zuko adds.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, between you and Sokka and penguin sledding...” He peers down into the fresh gauze wrapping his chest.

 _Maybe he does, but_ _it_ _’s still not home_ , Katara wants to say. But she bites her tongue. They’ve never really had a conversation as friends, one that didn’t lead back to the war in some way, and this is – it’s nice. Not that avoiding the war is exactly easy with the way she, Sokka and Aang had met Zuko, not that she made it easy for him once they started to fight on the same side – which is something she still refuses to regret.

She glances back up at Zuko. He’s running his fingertips lightly over the bandages, feeling the frayed texture of their edges and the healed perimeter of the scar below. They’ve risked their lives for each other, but are they even friends? She thinks so, and more than ever before, she’s willing to bet that Zuko would agree.

_4._

Katara pushes open the heavy wooden door to Zuko’s room to find Toph in her usual chair, sitting with her dirty feet propped up practically in Zuko’s lap. She grins automatically – that would be a sight for the meticulous rule-abiders and royal protocol hounds of this palace. To say nothing of Ozai himself.

“Katara! Fire Lord Sparky and I were just talking about you!”

“Oh, really?”

“I’ve been telling him about our adventures in the Earth Kingdom. You know, he was really curious about Haru, and Jet, asking all about your—”

“I didn’t—” Zuko interrupts with a scowl, his face red. “I mean, I wasn’t asking—”

Katara freezes, heat rushing up her neck. “Toph, I think someone down in the main wing is looking for you!” she says quickly. “One of the kitchen hands can’t believe that a _little blind girl_ could beat Prince Iroh at Pai Sho.” Not exactly the most urgent information, but Katara can’t help the little white lie.

Toph springs out of the chair and leaves with a painfully final slam of the door, a look of terribly imitated innocence on her face as she passes Katara. And then it’s just her and Zuko in the room, his expression somewhere between wincing and expectant. She’s _not_ going to ask him.

She clears her throat, her voice uncharacteristically high. “Are you feeling any pain today?”

A look of relief crosses Zuko’s face and the line of his brow loosens. “I—uh—not really, just the same itching from before.”

Katara gets to work. She doesn’t miss the levity in Zuko’s posture, the ease with which he held himself with her legs hitched over his, and wonders what he and Toph really talk about when they're together.

_5._

By the time she gets to him, Zuko is shivering hard. His eyes are glazed and dull, a sheen of sticky sweat on his temples making the scar over his eye glisten gruesomely. There’s always the risk of infection – but she thought that it would have happened earlier. She leans over him and assesses the wound, looking carefully. A low moan makes her squeeze Zuko’s hand in sympathy, almost unthinkingly. Iroh had said that he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours.

“You’re not wearing your necklace.”

Her hand automatically rises to touch the space between her collarbones. Zuko’s tone is slurred and sleepy, so the fact that it still carries so much surprise catches Katara off guard. “I—I took it off in the hot springs earlier.” She’d forgotten to put it back on. Distracted, she finds the strap of her leather pouch, and pats it down, though she doesn’t know why. She already knew it was there.

“Sorry,” Zuko says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s... it’s strange to see you without it.” He gives a shivering sigh, and doesn’t speak up again for a while.

She’s cooling the water in the bowl for the third time when she notices Zuko has surfaced again. He’s looking right at where her necklace would be.

“How old were you when we raided your village?”

Katara stops in her tracks. The water in her hold splashes loudly back into the bowl. She searches Zuko’s eyes for a hint of what brought on this question, but she finds nothing. His expression is pressing, and if there’s any shame in it, it’s subsumed under the curiosity. She knows immediately that he wouldn’t ask if he was in any better state than this.

“I was eight when the raid happened,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “But you already knew that.”

“I know,” Zuko says, still looking at her intently. “I didn’t tell you this before, when we went to find—find—“ he presses his hand to his forehead, his breath coming harsher.

“Yon Rha,” Katara supplies, her voice hard.

“Yon Rha. But— but we learnt about all the raids, when I was growing up. There was a list we had to memorise, Azula and me and the other children of the palace. And every time they added something new to it, there would be a celebration in class.”

The anger that had begun to brim in her body when Zuko began his story flares up at once, second only to her grief. Katara is suddenly aware of herself, perched on a chair in the heart of the Fire Nation, dwarfed by the immensity of the palace enclosing her.

“Katara, I’m so sorry. I celebrated it. I _celebrated_ it.” He swallows harshly, mouth turned down to an anguished frown.

“Shh,” she says, though it’s thick and quiet under the lump in her throat, the image of her mother’s last moments shining in front of her eyes. She steels herself. “You didn’t know. You can’t work yourself up now, Zuko, you’re already running such a high fever. We can talk about this later.”

He lays back down reluctantly. “I dreamt...I saw my own mother in the snow...” he whispers. Katara’s gaze snaps down to his ragged face, heart pounding fast.

But Zuko never finishes the sentence.

_6._

Things are finally starting up again in the palace. The news of Fire Lord Ozai’s defeat has reached every corner of the Fire Nation by now, if not every corner of the world. After the stunned yet weary standstill of the first week, people are slowly moving into action. Suki’s returning to gather her Kyoshi Warriors, and even Aang is spending more time within the walls of the palace, rather than the long, contemplative flights he’s been taking with every spare moment since the battle.

It’s one such instance that Katara interrupts when she knocks on Zuko’s door for their scheduled healing session. Aang is sitting cross-legged, not in the chair that’s now permanently drawn up the side of the bed, but perched on the end of Zuko’s mattress. When he sees Katara, Zuko briskly begins to unravel his layers of robes and tunics.

“Katara,” Aang says warmly when she enters. “I forgot you were coming to heal Zuko. We’re talking about going to Ba Sing Se with everyone for a while, once the coronation is over.”

Zuko nods and smiles up at her, startlingly serene. It’s not an expression she’s ever had directed at her before – devoid of gravity or unease. She looks at Aang again, and thinks about Toph, and thinks about why she spends so much time wondering about her own friendship with Zuko. “I,” Katara says, collecting her thoughts, “I think that’s a great idea.”

Aang leaps up from the bed, a stark contrast to Zuko’s still tense and slowed movements—well, tenser than his usual, especially considering he’s recovering from the fever that broke a couple of days ago.

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

It’s a miracle that Aang is in the state that he's in after the battle – the mastery of the Avatar State is a kind of power that Katara finds difficult to fathom. It’s oddly dismaying to think he may never need her help in quite the same way again.

“Yeah, Aang,” Zuko says amiably, saving her a reply. “See you.”

Aang stops at the door, glancing mischievously between them. “Don’t do _too_ good a job, Katara. I like winning our sparring matches.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Zuko mutters.

“Oh, it’s going to last a good while if _someone_ doesn’t cool it with their exercises,” Katara says, sparing a curious glance at the affectionate eyeroll he sends Aang’s way. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two in the courtyard yesterday.” It’s easy to follow Aang's lead into ribbing Zuko – it’s like those short, few days before the comet when it felt like all of them were finally on one page, ready to trust in each other for whatever it took to defeat Ozai.

She sets out her healing water, not failing to notice how Zuko waits for Aang to leave before rucking up the final layer of his tunic. Katara’s about to ask him what that’s about when Zuko interrupts, “I saw his scar.”

“Oh.”

“Is that what mine will look like?”

Katara’s mouth feels garbled. “Um—yes. Yours might be a little worse,” she says apologetically. “I didn’t have any Spirit Oasis water this time.”

Zuko bludgeons on, “If I had helped you back then, in the catacombs, he probably wouldn’t have that scar. He wouldn’t have died.”

“No,” Katara agrees, a little stunned. It’s not something that she had thought of before. “Probably not.” Still, her hands itch to begin healing. She’s not in the mood to entertain Zuko’s self-pity, not when it concerns Aang.

“Do you blame me?”

“A little.”

“He doesn’t,” Zuko says with a laugh that sounds more like a noise of incredulous exasperation to Katara’s ears. _That_ she can agree with.

“No, that’s not like Aang.”

“He said it’s pretty cool that we’ll have matching scars.”

_7._

They might just end up having matching scars. The wound is healing almost as well as Aang’s. And without the aid of water from the Spirit Oasis, that’s only a testament to her accelerating abilities. Zuko is quiet today, and so is she. There are often days like this now: one moment her mood is at an all-time high from their victory against Fire Lord Ozai, and the next, it crashes hard, her heart crushed under the weight of the days and years and lives lost to the Fire Nation, and the months of recovery ahead.

To add to that, Katara didn’t exactly sleep well last night, either. The memory of that fight returns to her at the most unpredictable of moments. She’s almost used to the nightmares at this point, but her lack of sleep makes for a slower day today, one more sombre than usual. She changes Zuko’s bandages and heals what’s left to heal – only the deepest parts of the initial wound, the ones still prone to infection. The damage to the flesh is not as neat, as precise, as Aang’s wound had been – probably a sign of Azula’s mental state. She works with smaller trickles of water, seeps them into the crevices until they make Zuko’s chest glow like a smattering of fireflies, the ones that hover in the palace gardens late at night when no one is around. There’s no way Azula is getting the better of her, even now. Never again.

She’d told Master Pakku, all those months that seem a lifetime ago, that she wanted to be a warrior, not a healer. The smarter option seems to be _both_.

There are others now that come to Katara too: some of her Dad’s men, with their phantom pains and reverent smiles, sometimes a nervous local child with a sprained ankle, or a fearful palace minister with a headache. They all come to seek the aid of the only waterbender within the walls of the Fire Nation royal palace.

Her most frequent patient is still Zuko, however. She’s planned it out with Aang: once Zuko is back to normal – his breathing and his firebending – they’ll leave for the South again. Meanwhile, the coronation looms ever closer.

Katara’s not even halfway done when a polite knock on the door interrupts her. Iroh’s voice calls from the other side. After a glance at Katara for permission, Zuko lets his uncle in, trailed by a young assistant clutching a scroll which turns out to be a carefully detailed itinerary for the coronation. With a brief greeting to Iroh, Katara focuses on healing again, her ear tuned to the lengthy list of instructions for Zuko to memorise for the ceremony.

“And with that,” Iroh says, “I will leave you to your rest.” He inclines his head towards Katara. “An honour to see you as ever, Katara.” He smiles. “I hope my nephew knows how lucky he is to be getting your treatment.”

“Oh, he knows,” Katara says with a kind smile.

As soon as the door closes behind his uncle, Zuko flops into the bed with a sigh. “There’s so much protocol to remember. How does anyone in this palace ever get anything _important_ done?"

That would be something for Zuko to change one day, Katara thinks, but that’s a conversation for another time. She knows what he really means is whether _he_ will be able to do any of this. But Katara now knows more than Zuko does about himself in some ways. She has seen his doubt, and equally, his determination, etched in his face these past few weeks, remaining unsaid in the short words they say to each other over their healing sessions.

“You’re going to be just fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go get crowned instead? I have a feeling you’d be a little better at this than me.”  
  
Katara laughs, briefly squeezing his hand. That sounds like a line he’d normally reserve for someone else. “I have my own people to take care of, Zuko.” And then, on a spur of affection that she has never felt before, or at least never heeded, she draws the pile of Zuko’s clothes into her lap and begins to pull his undershirt into place carefully over his head. Zuko’s arms go limp at his sides, surprised, though Katara tries not to react to it. She’s never deigned to put his clothes back in place before, though she had been the one to remove them before a few of their healing sessions. She arranges the collar and pulls together the sash on his tunic. Zuko has to help her figure out the sleeves on the final layer of his robes, but Katara isn’t fazed. Last of all, she brushes down the creases on his shoulders and wraps her arms around him in the gentlest squeeze possible.

Zuko looks slightly dumbfounded when they part.

“You’ll do amazing, Zuko. And you won’t be alone. We’ll all be right there in the crowd.”

Zuko smiles at her, warm and gracious, and Katara grins back.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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